


On Pufferfish

by Diamantspitzhacke (RedSoleWrites)



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, No Beta We Die Like L'Manbergians, Phukkit, but there's also semi-plot?, im very sorry everyone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:48:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27076762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedSoleWrites/pseuds/Diamantspitzhacke
Summary: Pufferfish are interesting, aren't they? Cute little fish that live simple lives floating in the ocean, yet with a unique twist.Doesn't that make you think?
Relationships: None, no thank youu
Comments: 28
Kudos: 121





	On Pufferfish

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for the festival! And also minor plot points from Tommy's stream today. 
> 
> listen,, okayy,, i'm very sorry for this  
> i'm also not sorry at all because i speedran 5K words in like 24 hours and i'm very proud of that.
> 
> i might recommend you add some mood music to augment the experience. just choose a soft, quiet, sad song and you're pretty set.
> 
> sorry again

The two boys sat on a bench together in front of an oak tree, watching the gently setting sun. The peaceful moment stood in stark contrast with the turmoil in their lives: the responsibilities they held, the stress they faced, the war they’d survived. For one short moment, everything else fell by the wayside, and they were content to just be together for the few moments they had.

“Tommy, I want you to have something.” Tubbo broke the silence. Tommy glanced towards him. “I know the election results are coming in soon, and I want you to know that no matter what happens, we’ll still have each other.”

“Of course, big man,” Tommy responded.

Tubbo dug around in his pocket before producing a pufferfish and presenting it to his friend.

“Is this-” Tommy started.

“It’s the original. From way back when we first got here. The first-ever Phukkit!”

“Tubbo- what? I- are you sure?”

The shorter boy nodded eagerly. The soft notes from the jukebox faded into background noise as they focused on each other. “I believe in you, Tommy. But just in case, think of it as good luck!”

(Now, pufferfish are interesting creatures. At first glance, they are simple and cute, just bobbing around in the ocean.)

“Niki!” Tubbo called across the docks. “Niki what even is your language?”

Niki, too busy bent in half laughing, didn’t answer.

“What- what’s this?” he asked, gesturing at a bone lying on the wooden planks, the remnants of a burnt-up skeleton. “A n.. a nonch?” Niki started laughing harder. She helplessly held her hand out, a silent gesture to pass on the object. When she spotted it, she managed to gasp out, “It’s a knochen!” before giggling even harder. Not above making fun of himself and his lack of foreign language skills, Tubbo started laughing too.

The sun beat down above them on a cloudless day as they searched for more items to try and fail to pronounce. Tubbo darted to and fro on the docks, pointing at everything and asking Niki for a translation. Niki, for her part, was hiccupping, cheeks aching from how hard she was grinning.

The boy would wave her over to a fern, or a loose nail, or even just gesture at the water, caught up in this new inside joke between them.

Really, despite everything going on with Schlatt and Wilbur and L’Ma-Manberg, it was nice to just be able to take a break and laugh with friends. Niki knew that Schlatt was working Tubbo to the bone, so she was glad that he was taking a day for himself to just act like the teenager that he still was. And, caught up in the innocent joy of the day herself, she didn’t mind if she missed a few responsibilities of her own to spend time with one of her dearest friends.

“Niki!” Tubbo shouted. She glanced around for him, unable to spot him. “Down here!”

There he was, popping his head out of the water. She hadn’t even heard him jump in.

“What’s this one?” he asked yet again, holding something out of the water above his head. Niki meandered over, excited to see what Tubbo’s latest find was. “Come on, Niki, what’s pufferfish in German?”

She started giggling again, answering, “kugelfischeimer!”

They dissolved into laughter together, two friends finding humor in the dumbest jokes.

(But there’s more to the pufferfish than that. First in their unique traits is their chameleon-like ability to change their appearance in response to their environment)

Tubbo pulled at the neck of his collared shirt uncomfortably. In the first days of Schlatt’s reign, he had ordered a dress code for members of his cabinet. Unfortunately for Tubbo, stuck in L’Ma- no, _Manberg_ , _it’s Manberg now_ , this meant that the normally slightly messy boy was forced into starched and pressed business suits every moment of the day.

He was almost afraid to walk around in the nice clothes. In his normal attire, he didn’t worry about getting messy because he was just so used to wearing them. But this suit? This really nice, top-of-the-line, probably-very-expensive-but-he-didn’t-want-to-think-about-that suit? Tubbo didn’t dare get even a speck of dust on it. What would Schlatt think if he did? It really was a really nice gift for him when Schlatt heard he didn’t own any suits. Tubbo didn’t want to mess up the gift, even if he wasn’t on Schlatt’s side.

“And with that, gentlemen, I think this cabinet meeting is over.” President Schlatt stood up from his chair, towering over his cabinet of much shorter people. What was with that? Was it a coincidence that he picked people who were a lot shorter than him to surround him? But if he did do it intentionally, how did Schlatt end up with the support of what just so happened to be all the shorter guys?

A hand on his shoulder startled Tubbo out of his rambling thoughts. “Hey, Tubbo! Tubster! Big T!”

Tubbo winced at the nickname, thinking of how mad Tommy would be to hear his words in Schlatt’s mouth. “What are you doing later today, my man?” Schlatt asked.

“Uhh,” Tubbo stalled, trying to think of an excuse. “I’m, uh, taking my – my bees to the uh, to the vet! Yeah, that’s it.”

“Oh, are they doing all right?” Schlatt sounded concerned, but he was too busy examining his nails to really be paying attention to Tubbo.

“No, not really, that’s why I’m taking them to the vet. I think it might be, umm…, it might be cancer?” Tubbo tried.

“Oh, that’s too bad. Listen, when you get the chance, why don’t you stop by my place, eh, Tubbo? We’ll have a nice chat about presidential things over dinner or something, how’s that sound? Politics over some good old American hot dogs.”

“Uh, sure, Schlatt.”

“Great, man. I’ll see you later, then!” With that, the President of Manberg strode away down the long hall of the White House.

Tubbo stood still, practically holding his breath, until Schlatt turned the corner, before tearing away down the stairs. He sprinted across the central plaza, up Tommy’s Prime Path, shedding pieces of his suit as he went. Skidding into his house, Tubbo threw off the leather loafers he was wearing, uncaring of the thud they made as they hit his wall. Instead, he changed his clothes as quickly as he could, back into his normal green shirt (unevenly buttoned), stained jeans (riding up one leg), and battered sneakers (laced left untied). He darted out his back door and into the woods as he made his way to Pogtopia, to Wilbur and Tommy.

Gone was the pristine, put-together, respectable young man who was Schlatt’s right hand. Now Tubbo was feeling more like himself again, scruffy and loyal, making his way to the people that were his home.

As he made his way through the thick woods, ignoring the many branches and rocks that stood in his way and tore at his clothes, Tubbo kept a sharp eye out for any possible followers. He hadn’t seen anyone yet, and he didn’t think he’d made himself suspicious to Schlatt, but Tubbo was paranoid at this point. He crested the final hill on his journey and caught his breath before running down it to Pogtopia.

“Tommy!” he shouted as he reached the pit that held Fundy’s stolen skeleton horse.

The mound of dirt that blocked off the entrance to Pogtopia was shoved aside as Tommy shoved himself through, yelling “Tubbo!” as he went.

They collided in a rush, collapsing to the ground under their combined opposing forces. “I missed you!” Tubbo exclaimed.

“You saw me last week, Tubbo. Clingy, much?” Tommy teased.

“Shut up man.” Tubbo punched his friend in the shoulder as Tommy laughed at his own joke.

“Well, what’s the news for today?” the exile asked.

Tubbo’s eyes darted around nervously. Suddenly a little uncomfortable, he hedged, “Maybe we should wait for Wilbur on this one.” The teen stood up, offering a hand to Tommy, who waved it off.

Together, the two boys made their way into the fledgling refuge of Pogtopia. And despite the sheer illegality of even breathing here, despite the fact that he was risking his life as a spy every moment that he was here, Tubbo felt more at home than he had in a long time in Manberg.

(Another interesting and much more well-known facet of the pufferfish is the piece from which it derives its name – that is, the puffing up. In times of danger, a pufferfish will change its shape and extend pointy spines to protect itself from being eaten.)

Ponk stared at the burnt remains of his lemon tree. His pride and joy. Where before its massive boughs stretched up to the skies, there was now only a charred and blackened stump.

He whirled around to face the culprit. “What did you do to my tree, _Tubbo_?”

The boy scuffed his shoe against the ground. His fingers twisted in the untucked hem of his shirt as he avoided looking at the crime scene. “I-it really wasn’t me, Ponk.”

Ponk raised an eyebrow. “Not you? Really, Tubbo, you expect me to believe that?”

Tubbo nodded.

“Because I have evidence that shows you at the scene, _lighting my tree on fire_.”

“But that wasn’t me!” the teen repeated. “It was Big Crime!”

“And just who is this ‘Big Crime?’” Ponk tapped his fingers on his arms, tightly crossed over his chest. He wanted to reach for his sword, strapped at his side, but he knew that now was not the time. The masked man had to at least give the pretense of a fair investigation. As much as he wanted to strike Tubbo down right then and there, Dream might be upset. Tommy certainly would be.

Tubbo chewed on his lip. “Big Crime is kind of another person? Like, he’s me, but not me at the same time, y’know?”

Ponk just stared blankly at the boy.

“Um, he’s like another personality, if that makes sense?”

“Uh-huh…” he trailed off. “And can you prove this?”

Tubbo perked up, for some reason. “Like in a court of law?”

Ponk had no idea why that would improve Tubbo’s mood. He was talking about going to court, in front of a jury and judge, and arguing to them that he was innocent because ‘his alter ego did it.’ The chances were impossible for Tubbo. There was no way he’d win. Ponk would be able to get legally sanctioned revenge, and Tubbo would pay for destroying the sacred lemon tree. Besides, Tubbo didn’t even have a lawyer. “Sure, buddy. Just like that.”

The teen grinned up at him cheekily. “Then do you have any cookies you could spare me?”

(Of course, in the event that this natural defense is not enough of a deterrent, the pufferfish has one last act of revenge in store for its predators.)

Tubbo shook slightly on the stand. Blocked in by concrete and brick as he was, there was nowhere for him to turn, nowhere for him to hide. His cage was kind of funny that way. Everything it was made from reflected the walls of L’Manberg, when they still stood. Yellow and black concrete crowned blackstone bricks. It was a shallow parody, though. The massive walls had made Tubbo feel safe and secure. This claustrophobic prison was secure in an entirely different way, leaving Tubbo no entrance or exit.

“Schlatt? W-what’s this?” he called nervously.

“Tubbo. Tubbo. _Tubbo_ ,” Schlatt started, a mocking repetition of his Secretary’s name. “You really thought I was that stupid? Did you really think you could pull one over on me? _Me_? _I’m_ the one who scams people, Tubbo, I don’t _get scammed_.”

“I don’t- I- what are you talking about, Schlatt?”

The president leaned forwards over the fence blocking Tubbo in. His eyes gleamed with a cruel light as he whispered, “I know that you’ve been spying for Wilbur.”

Tubbo backed as far away from Schlatt as he could go, though that wasn’t very far within the confines of his cage. Schlatt knew? Had known the whole time? And just let him keep going?

“So now, today, in front of ALL OF MANBERG,” Schlatt turned and faced the assembled crowd, “We will PUNISH this traitor for TREASON against our GLORIOUS NATION!” The people in the stands shouted and cheered, a roaring call that filled Tubbo’s ears. “And what is the punishment for high treason?”

“DEATH!” the people screamed.

“That’s right!” Schlatt shouted. “So, get on up here, Technoblade.”

_Technoblade?_

Wait, Techno? But Tommy and Wilbur had said that he was on their side. Tubbo had helped with his potato farm. Why was Schlatt calling him up to the stage.

The warrior slowly stood from his seat, making his way up the hill to the stage. Quackity laid out an extra platform for Techno to stand on in front of Tubbo. “What’s up, Schlatt?”

“Technoblade, I want you to take Tubbo out.” The boy’s blood ran cold. Surely not, surely not Technoblade? Right? He wouldn’t do that.

“In what way?” Techno asked? “That’s really vague, man. Like do you want me to take him on a date, buy him a coat, shine his shoes?”

“NO, Technoblade! I want you to KILL HIM! SLOWLY and PAINFULLY!”

There was a faint cry from the audience, though Tubbo couldn’t pick out who it came from. His heart rate picked up, he was breathing quickly, sweat dripped down the side of his forehead. All of the boy’s attention was honed on Technoblade as the man slowly looked between him and Schlatt, before his gaze drifted down to the crossbow strapped to his side.

_Wilbur told me he wouldn’t hurt me. Wilbur told me he wouldn’t hurt me. Wilbur told me he wouldn’t hurt me._

Technoblade finally locked eyes with Tubbo again, guilt pooling in the air between them. “I’m sorry, Tubbo. I’ll make this as quick and painless as I can.”

Tears rolled down Tubbo’s face as he gripped his shirt. There wasn’t anything he could do to stop Techno, to save himself. He’d emptied his pockets before coming up to the stand to give his speech, and that mistake was one that might cost Tubbo his life. No pick to get out of the concrete, no shield to block the incoming projectile, no armor to dull the impact, no weapon to defend himself.

Gathering himself, Tubbo took a deep breath and nodded once at Techno. “Do it,” he breathed.

The warrior nodded back, before raising his crossbow and aiming it at Tubbo. The firework loaded into it sparked and fizzed in anticipation, almost more nervous looking than Tubbo himself.

As the firework exploded into his heart, Tubbo stood proud and strong, a L’Manbergian until the end.

A shower of red filled the air, and what was explosive powder and what was blood, nobody could tell.

(Pufferfish are poisonous, incredibly poisonous. Their flesh in most species is full of tetrodotoxin, a potent neurotoxin that can kill humans. It starts with numbness in the lips and tongue.)

As the remains of Tubbo’s body hit the singed stage, dead silence filled the crowd. Some of them might have shouted beforehand, caught up in the moment, but nobody had really expected Tubbo to be executed so brutally in front of them.

Niki’s hands flew up to her mouth. Her stifled gasp shot across the silence with all the subtlety of a cannon firing. With that cue, the audience burst into murmurs, steadily growing in volume and intensity until the whole crowd was shouting at Schlatt and Technoblade.

The president himself dramatically twirled to face the audience, ready to see their glowing approval. His steady grin gradually faded into an expression of disappointment at the reaction he had garnered instead.

Technoblade, on his part, stayed turned away from the crowd. His shoulders heaved up and down, the only visible movement from the vantage point of the audience. Schlatt held his hand out to the fabled warrior, as if to provide him all the credit. “Come on, Technoblade. Don’t you want to thank all your adoring fans?”

Everything about Technoblade was obscured. All the audience could see was his magnificent blood-red cloak and the crown sitting atop his head. He slowly turned his head towards them, his body staying facing Tubbo’s mangled corpse.

Schlatt continued holding out his hand awkwardly. The microphone picking up his words could barely be heard over the din of the shouting onlookers. “Come on, Technoblade.” Schlatt’s teeth gritted. “They’re waiting for you.”

Suddenly, the warrior whirled around, slapping Schlatt’s hand away and shouldering him off the stage and into the stands. The fateful crossbow that had mercilessly ended Tubbo’s life was loaded and aimed directly at the crowd, with more fireworks held in Technoblade’s fingers. He pulled the trigger, and a wash of explosions filled the screaming crowd, people shouting and pushing as they tried to take cover.

And in their rush to escape from the bloodthirsty man ahead of them, nobody could quite hear the anguished howl of one tall boy. His voice lacked all words, just one long note of grief.

(It progresses to weakness, tremors, and cyanosis as the extremities turn purple.)

Nobody in Manberg had quite realized the extent of Tubbo’s influence until the boy was gone.

The pristine nation, with its cheerful stalls and inspiring monuments, quickly fell into a repetitive pattern of half-formed cobblestone buildings. The festival was only meant to be temporary, after all, and nobody really wanted to keep up the decorations that reminded them all of such a gruesome death. But with nobody providing them the wide variety of materials in such massive supply, the rebuilding efforts quickly dwindled and died.

Potions turned into a black-market product without Tubbo’s expertise and ingredients. People opted to let a wound heal over time and risk infection rather than dole out the coin required for a precious healing potion. What few construction projects continued took considerably longer without the concoctions of strength that Tubbo had readily provided. Fakes started spreading around, foul-tasting stews of who-knows-what that called themselves helpful, but really did nothing at all. There were no more reputable alchemists; nobody had bothered to learn, content with the assurance that Tubbo would provide, he always had before!

The ingenious machines that would occasionally spring up diminished in number and quality. Those had been a mix of Fundy and Tubbo, and without somebody to one-up or collaborate with, the first son of L’Manberg lost motivation. If he programmed any redstone devices, they were always by requirement, and always halfhearted.

Manberg’s natural landscape was overtaken by ugly buildings and smog. Without Tubbo’s voice in the cabinet advocating for the environment, nobody could stop Schlatt’s industrial ambitions. Animals fled, flowers wilted, trees were felled, grass trampled. The greenery that was once so characteristic of the free nation turned dead and brown. Nobody could stop Schlatt.

Nobody could start Schlatt, either. Tubbo had been his go-to guy, the one who got things done. He would do anything asked of him. Now there was a vacuum to fill to pick up his slack, but nobody could match the workload Tubbo had carried. Government actions stalled, addresses were vague, and public events like the fateful festival were never even brought up on the docket.

Manberg had fallen into disrepair.

(Victims of tetrodotoxin poisoning eventually suffer from respiratory failure due to paralysis of the diaphragm.)

Wilbur dropped his head into his hands. His quill slowed to a stop from the line he’d been writing. It was something about a plan to take back Manberg again, but he honestly couldn’t remember his train of thought, if he’d even had one to begin with.

He looked back over his words.

_Tommy if he ever leaves his room again comes with me to behind the white house and we dig and dig and dig and make a bunker and take Schlatt there and then we ~~bloodily murder him like he did tubbo~~_

_~~hold him hostage until he gives us back power~~ _

_~~tie him to a chair and leave him there to rot~~ _

_we get a pufferfish and_

Yeah, he didn’t know where he was going with that last one.

Just, with Tubbo gone, Wilbur was at a loss. The exile had lost his creative spark that had helped him come up with a thousand ideas during the war with Dream. He was left now with this sad excuse for a journal filled with rambles and half-baked plans. None of which would work.

Tubbo had been – had been dead for two weeks at this point, and Pogtopia was in shambles. Techno was walking around, hunched over, avoiding eye contact with everyone. Mostly he stuck to sitting in his potato farm, just watching the plants grow. He didn’t farm with the same wild mania that had earned him fame, though. He just sat, and watched, and occasionally flipped the switch for the automatic harvester Tubbo had created. The warrior then would slowly stand up and push each new seed into its spot with deliberate care.

The crossbow that he had spent ages making lay in the corner, unused, cobwebs starting to hang off of it. His royal red cloak was carelessly heaped beside it, untouched, unwashed. There were bloodstains at the hem, though it was hard to tell against the dye of the fabric. Still, Wilbur understood why Techno wouldn’t want to wear it.

Tommy worried Wilbur. A lot. The boy scarcely left his room, barely ate, and Wil had no idea if he slept at all. No noise came from the usually loud and brash teen’s room. That might have been what frightened Wilbur the most. 

The few times Wilbur had spotted him walking around, he was inevitably heading for the surface, gliding like a ghost, with one hand clenched tightly by his side. The ex-president never knew where Tommy went on these trips, but he was fine letting him be. If that was what Tommy needed to heal, then that was alright.

Wilbur massaged his temples, sighing. With Tubbo gone, the fire had gone out from their little rebellion. Techno was guilty, Tommy was silent, and Wilbur wasn’t exactly the sanest himself. Sure, he wasn’t on the edge of blowing up an entire country anymore, but paranoia still nipped at his heels. And he knew, just a little nugget that he kept in the back of his mind, that the TNT still laid beneath Manberg, waiting to be set off.

Sometimes Wil wanted to set it off, so very badly. And every time, he forcibly reminded himself of the boy that would have been standing at the epicenter of the explosion.

Sometimes Wil wanted to stand in the middle of the dynamite and light it, just for himself. And every time, he remembered the teen who had died with the dream of revolution in his eyes.

Sometimes Wil wanted to abandon the whole idea of usurping Schlatt and let Manberg lie. And every time, he recalled the martyr whose death was laid at Schlatt’s feet.

This last one was becoming more tempting by the day.

Wilbur closed his eyes and indulged himself in a dream of peace and freedom. A place where he didn’t have to claw his way into safety or fake his way to peace of mind. It was green and warm and sunny.

He picked up his quill and started writing again.

(In some cases, victims may be completely lucid and conscious as they die.)

Seated atop his throne, Schlatt watched Manberg crumble.

His raised vantage point provided an excellent view of his nation falling apart.

For the past few months, Manberg’s streets had been quiet and empty. Her citizens huddled behind closed doors. They whispered as they crossed paths in the street. Shops stayed closed.

A permanent gloom had settled over everyone’s heads.

Leaning his head on his hand, Schlatt traced letters into the arm of his seat.

The edges of the deadened landscape were creeping inside Manberg’s borders. Even the gardens that individuals tried so hard to maintain slowly died. The green was fading from everyone’s color schemes.

 _Huh_ , Schlatt huffed absentmindedly, _funny, that_.

The smog produced by his factories felt like a physical presence. It wasn’t an abstract thought, anymore, it was an immediate reality. Nobody cared enough to stop it, though.

The president sunk down in his seat. He was rumpled and different, too. His suit was wrinkled, his hair was a mess, and dark bags hung under his eyes. Exhaustion permeated the air around him, a feeling that he passed on to everyone around him. _I really didn’t realize how much work running a country by yourself is_.

Quackity had left ages ago. They’d argued, loudly and vehemently, for the whole of Manberg to see, and Quackity had stormed off. Schlatt hadn’t seen him since. Distantly, he hoped his former vice president was alright.

George had never shown up to work in the first place, so that was another helping hand out of the picture. The man had never really had a concrete reason to be a part of Manberg’s government, what with his ties to Dream, so Schlatt supposed that his permanent disappearance from all state activities was inevitable.

That left Schlatt. Alone. He could have recruited somebody else into his government, but that was too much work, he supposed. Plus, his ratings weren’t exactly sky-high at the moment.

As the sun finally set over the grey day, he spotted a lone figure cresting the hill by Manberg’s border. The last rays of muted sunlight illuminated them to the sole witness of Schlatt. Considering who it was, though, Schlatt guessed that the dramatics were just for him anyways.

Wilbur Soot, founder of L’Manberg, stood frozen in his tracks. With his trench coat billowing in the breeze, his hair hanging over one of his eyes, he looked the perfect part of the rebellious rogue.

Schlatt could have called out. He could have guards come and subdue the trespasser. He could pull out a sword and kill the man himself. There were so many choices Schlatt could have made in those tense moments.

Schlatt stayed where he was.

Schlatt stayed silent.

Schlatt stayed seated atop his throne as Wilbur Soot raised one hand and hit the trigger, detonating the piles of explosives laced beneath Manberg.

Schlatt stayed paralyzed as his nation crumbled beneath the mighty booms.

Schlatt stayed staring at Wilbur as the heat rushed at his face and whited out everything.

(Aren’t they neat, those pufferfish?)

As the explosions sounded in the distance and Manberg met her end, one lonesome boy sat on a bench and ignored it all.

He tuned out the detonations with the soft notes of Mellohi. He faced away from the destruction, instead gazing out over a field of trees and watching the setting sun.

Even with such a peaceful scene before him, as leaves gently feel from the tree above onto his shoulders, Tommy sobbed.

He uncurled his tightly clenched fist to reveal the dried-up pufferfish within. Its spines had pricked his palm, but Tommy was past the point of caring about that.

He curled his body over the small trinket, rocking slightly as he wept.

Tubbo had been dead for three months.

He’d never even gotten a proper funeral. Traitors didn’t deserve respect, after all, as Schlatt would say.

Tommy had no idea where his friend was buried.

The only thing he had left of Tubbo was fucking _Phukkit_. Just a goddamn pufferfish that he’d given him as a good luck charm. And it hadn’t even worked! The election had gone to shit!

Still, it was the one thing he still had. Wilbur was in the process of completely and utterly decimating Manberg, which probably included Tubbo’s bunker there. His original house was destroyed during the war with Dream, so that was a no-go too.

Tommy cradled the tiny fish in his palms. If this was all that remained of Tubbo’s memory, then that’s what he had.

He thought back to the last time they’d sat on this bench together. Right before everything went so horribly wrong.

He’d warned Tubbo about Wilbur and his mad plans of terrorism. That was what he’d thought they had to worry about. That was it! Just convincing his president-slash-older-brother-figure to _not_ go batshit insane and blow up the nation they were trying to retake.

How was _that_ the simpler time?

How could he know that the disaster would come from his other semi-brother? How could he have predicted that fucking _Technoblade_ , of all people, would be the one to go on a murder spree?

Okay so wording it like that made it sound less crazy, but still! Tommy thought that his surprised anger was justified.

But even that had faded in the face of the all-encompassing _grief_.

He couldn’t yell and swear at Techno, not without Tubbo there to back him up. Straight-up dueling Techno wasn’t an option, either, because _hello_ , Technoblade?

And his music discs weren’t offering the same comfort as before, either, not without Tubbo by his side. Everything had been easier when they just had to worry about Dream swooping in from the walls to try to steal his discs.

Now, he’d give away all of them just to get Tubbo back.

Tommy finally leaned back, resting his head against the back of the bench. He gazed up through the leaves of the tree, letting the last bits of sun slide over his face before the moon rose. Taking out a flint, the boy turned to the side and stared at the items in his hands.

He gripped the flint tightly before sighing and releasing his grip. He couldn’t do it. Not to their spot. This place was special, sacred. Like the holy lands, but just for him and Tubbo. Or, well, just him now.

Walking over to the jukebox, merrily playing Mellohi’s tune, Tommy removed the disk and held it up to the sky, considering.

“Yeah, you see this, Tubbo?” he asked the stars. Who knows, maybe his friend was there, watching him. He shook the disc in his hand, before picking up the flint and lighting it on fire.

The plastic of the record blackened quickly, Tommy wrinkling his nose at the stench. Still, he held it up, watching the flames warp and consume the disc until he was forced to drop it before it burned his hand. In a matter of seconds, Mellohi, an item that he quite literally had gone to war for, was gone.

“That’s for you, big man. I hope you’re doing okay, wherever you are.”

He saluted the sky, tears dripping down his chin, before turning and walking away from his spot, away from the remains of Manberg, and into the forest.

Tommy moved his hand, holding the little pufferfish over his heart.

“I miss you, Tubbo.”

**Author's Note:**

> umm,, are you okay? did you survive? how are you feeling? do you need any tissues?
> 
> feel free to comment your feelings to get them out, that's kind of 90% of my diet and also i will accept your venting at me
> 
> pufferfish, am i right?


End file.
